“For I know that the Lord is great, and that our Lord is above all gods.
Whatever the Lord pleases, he does, in heaven and on earth, in the seas and all the deeps.
He it is who makes the clouds rise at the end of the earth,
Who makes lightnings for the rain and brings forth the wind from his storehouses.”–Psalm 135:7

It was the first morning of worship at Laity Lodge during The High Calling retreat last November. Laura Boggess read aloud Mark 4:34-39 in the contemplative style called Lectio Divina. The soft lilt of her voice with a slight West Virginia dialect slowed my breathing and focused my mind on the syllables of a well known story as they rolled off her tongue.

That day when evening came, he said to his disciples, ‘Let us go over to the other side.’ Leaving the crowd behind, they took him along, just as he was, in the boat. There were also other boats with him. A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped. Jesus was in the stern, sleeping on a cushion. The disciples woke him and said to him, ‘Teacher, don’t you care if we drown?’ He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’ Then the wind died down and it was completely calm. He said to his disciples, ‘Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?’ They were terrified and asked each other, ‘Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!’

(I cannot confirm through research or otherwise what version of the Bible Laura read from. I know it was not exactly what is above, a direct quote from the New International Version, but the words below are identical to what I journaled in my bright green Moleskine during contemplation.)

*Leaving the world behind
*Just as He was
*Asleep on a pillow
*Peace
*Be still
*Completely calm
*Why are you so afraid?
*Faith
*Who is this?

It was June, 2009 when we last saw the shores of the Atlantic. Delaney was six. Danica was eighteen months. A few weeks before leaving we realized something was horribly wrong with our baby, but the trip had long been planned. We went anyway. I will never forget how each mile of Route 12 seemed like one hundred as Danica screamed in agony in her car seat. Every single photo from our week shows Danica with a crooked head and neck wincing in pain and confusion. Through the years we have begged God to redeem that trip to Corolla in His time. He did this through the love of dear ones who have carefully watched our struggle and wanted to make some kind of respite happen for us all in a place we longed for and needed to return to.

The last week of May God made a way for my family and I to literally and figuratively “go over to the other side.” We left this life behind and took a real vacation to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Our time was sacred in every way. The seven days we spent together were our happiest in at least six years.

The week was peace.
The week was still.
The week was completely calm.

We didn’t speak much about the trip before leaving. Our plans have a way of tragically falling through. Those who knew said things like, “You guys deserve this.” I would squirm. I know too much. I read too much. I pray too much. My heart touches too many lives that suffer and break without even a hope of a beach vacation. I never once thought this was anything but pure gift.

This is what Grace feels like. This is what Grace looks like. This is what Grace lives like.

My June surgery was all scheduled. We knew this week was in all reality the sum total of our summer fun. I spent the days taking continuous amounts of medications to fight the pain and feel the best I could to enjoy my family. I am always more well in the sun. I am always more well near water. I am always more well away from Ohio. I made a conscious effort to not even once say to my husband or children, “I have a headache.” I didn’t tell them about losing feeling in my fingers or my hands and feet going numb. I wanted our time to be about who we might be. I wanted it to be about who Dan and Delaney remember I once was. I wanted to know somewhere deep down inside I had the capacity to taste and see unfiltered good. There were minutes and even hours of this kind of clarity. It fueled our hope. For too long it has been deferred and made all of our hearts sick.

During our time we didn’t have a drop of rain. The seas were calm. The temperature perfect. It was like the great big God of the universe, our Father God, planned the weather for just us. We were sleeping on a pillow in the stern of the boat. We were resting. We had no idea here in Ohio there were several huge storms including high winds, hard rains and strikes of lightening. The same God who gave us peace also allowed a huge bolt of lightening to hit a very old and tall tree behind our home and split it down the middle. It did not just fall. The water inside the tree conducted the electricity and caused a bomb of sorts. It’s hard to explain unless you’ve seen something like it. It threw shrapnel chunks of the tree from the woods behind our home over our house and plunged deep into the front yard. One strike and the tree exploded. It was Tuesday night of our week away.

My father was coming by daily to check on our house and check the mail. When he arrived Wednesday afternoon our neighbor came running out to explain the war zone and show him the worst of it. Half of the tree split down the middle was hanging over their fence, into their yard, threatening their home. Another storm would most likely cause great damage to their property. He didn’t call us. He didn’t text us. He got on the phone with homeowners insurance and determined because our home wasn’t damaged they would not cover anything. He called several tree companies. A few would not even take the job. The position of the tree and the almost impossible way you could access it with necessary machinery would make the job a financial loss and risk. Finally he found someone to bring a crane up our neighbor’s driveway into our yard and do the difficult job of taking down the entire tree to the stump.

As we flew back into Cleveland Saturday night we hit lightening and bumpy storm clouds. We drove home in torrential rain. I held my head filling with pressure and pain and cried. I was thinking, “God, don’t you care if I drown?” I can’t live here. I can’t do this. Sunday morning Dan went out to try to mow our grass in between bursts of showers. He came in and told me in the most serious tone, “Someone stole one of our big trees while we were gone.” I laughed and explained how ridiculous that was. He then began to worry something bad had happened, and we would get some crazy invoice for it. I told him to go knock on the neighbors door and just ask them. He came back with a story I could hardly believe. My parents texted that morning asking if they could stop by after church. The photos and videos my dad showed us were astonishing. When we found out how much it cost to take care of the situation we went numb. $2800. I felt like throwing up.

Over the next day or so I looked up all the verses I could about lightening. God could have made that lightening strike any tree. We have a dead tree that is threatening our home, and we haven’t had the money to have it cut down. Why not that tree, Lord? What purpose did this storm have in our lives, my father’s life and the lives of our neighbors? I then thought of the passage from Mark. I reflected on the great love of my earthly father showing discernment and love by not calling us at all. He stepped in and took care of the disaster knowing we needed to rest. He paid the price knowing we did not have $2800. He loves us so much he did this sacrificial thing that pointed us to Jesus. At the very same time our Heavenly Father calmed the literal seas. He gave us peace. He reminded us who He is.

Today is my earthly daddy’s birthday. I celebrate him in new ways each year. Our relationship grows more pure as we both get deeper in our walks with God. I realize how very like him I am. When I look back across the landscape of our Gauntlet years I am brought to my knees remembering the countless ways he and my mother have done everything they could to love us and support us. We have come to trust them with our hearts and our storms. My father will do anything he can to calm the seas for me. He counts my husband as a son. He loves my daughters perhaps even more than he can love me, because that’s what love on top of love does. Most of all he points me to my abba God.

Calm seas.
Raging storms.
Father love.

All Grace.

I promised her. I told my Delaney Jayne several weeks ago I would take her shopping for a special mother, daughter date. She’s growing and changing in every way. Her blossoming like spring brings the need to find everything new. I’m sick. I’m getting sicker every day. I know I need more treatment and even see surgery on the horizon again. I’ve let my girl down too many times. Beautiful intentions have been crushed over and over again by the reality of this broken body. I woke yesterday after just a few hours of fitful sleep. I saw the look in her eyes and the carefully drafted list of needs and a few wants in her sweet little notebook. I did the chronic illness math in my head. How far could I drive? How long could I stand? How much clothing dye, perfume and people smells could I be exposed to? How much stimulation could my racing, raging mind handle? How many times could my shoulder pop out of joint from pushing hangers on the racks. How strong could I be when it came to the budget and reality of our family finances? Would I find the wisdom to share conversation with her discussing messages the world shouts to us about our appearance and identity? Could I gently show her the value of finding her own personal style? What kind of joy could come from all this hard? I divided the sum of all these things by the strength and Grace of Jesus, and I pushed.

Even when I was healthy I hated malls. I’ve never been one to shop at department stores with brand names or wander for hours looking for something to strike my fancy or fill up some space in my life. If I must buy I go to Target with a list. If I am looking for inspiration or a perfect gift I love Anthropologie or any shop small enough to be owned by someone I can say hello to when I walk in the door. I do love to putz at TJ Maxx or Marshall’s for a bargain but only for fun and mostly for my home. When I was well and worked I kept to a simple rule of mixing and matching classic, well made clothes. My sense of style allows for a new scarf or beautiful cardigan when the season changes, but what I wear is not something that consumes much of my thought at all. I still own many timeless pieces that I will keep and wear for years. I subscribe to the “cost per use” rule. This justifies a pair of black riding boots I paid several hundred dollars for and have owned eight winters. They’ve been cobbled once, polished every year, and I know they will last me at least eight more and look just as good if not better than the day I bought them. I wear sparse jewelry. Each piece holds some kind of meaning. Very little to nothing is “costume” for me. My weight has fluctuated from a size six when Danica was young to a size twelve at my heaviest through steroids and months in bed. I’ve given away the tailored pieces I know I will never fit in again. Pajama pants and a good hoodie are primarily my wardrobe now.

I admit I am completely sheltered and nearly oblivious to the consumption going on around me. I have been ignorant to the pressures my daughter faces daily when it comes to the kind of clothes and shoes she owns and wears. I don’t hear the constant yelling about how appearance is one of the most important statements you can make to let others know who you are, because I’ve had the volume down for a very long time. I didn’t grow up with any of these influences. I looked into the mirror every day with a cross stitch of I Peter 3:3-4 reflecting behind me. “Do not let your beauty be merely outward—arranging the hair, wearing gold, or putting on fine apparel—rather let it be the hidden person of the heart, with the incorruptible beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is very precious in the sight of God.”

We climbed into the car in our garage, and I said, “Let’s pray.” I asked God to keep us safe, give us a good time together and guide our buying. I do this because my grandma always prayed before we pulled out of their driveway. I do this because my mom still says, “Let’s pray,” when she picks me up for anything. I know it makes Delaney uncomfortable, just like it did me for so many years, thinking this ritual might somehow keep us from a car accident or bring us to a sale we otherwise would miss. Now I do it because I acknowledge His blessing on our coming and going. I do it to acknowledge Him.

We’d gone to Target first for basics like camis and jeans and a simple dress for a choir competition this week. Walking into our local mall created an emotional response in me I could not have prepared for. My head snapped back as I smelled a rank contagion opening wounds with every swipe of a plastic card. The crowds wandered like zombies. I couldn’t see real faces. I felt sad and afraid. Was this my social anxiety or something more? I braved a store with clothing tailored to a young audience. The music, the square footage stuffed to overflowing with racks and racks of cheaply made formaldehyde smelling garments only good for a season at best, the cheap perfume, the too short shorts, the graphic messages on the shirts and the sheer number of girls pressing in to grab something made me dizzy. My legs were like jello. The burning in between my shoulder blades and the pain clawing up my back into the base of my skull forced me to find a stool in a dressing room. Delaney found some things she liked that could be basics for the season. I sat while she tried them on. I tried to do the real math in my head adding up the price of each item. I wished I had my mom’s old red plastic clicker she used to tally up our groceries. We always knew if we went over and had to put something back. My arithmetic was not so good.

We did that one awful store at the mall, and I told her I couldn’t do anymore. She could see it in my eyes. She didn’t argue. As we walked toward the exit we saw a Las Vegas type mecca of baubles called Charming Charlies. I limped and grimaced trying to think of a way to save this date. I offered to go into this store and let her pick out a few accessories to add color and style to her new clothes. She smiled. In we went. I felt like I was in the worst carnival fun house ever. All that fake metal and in no way precious stones and plastic and pleather made my stomach turn. The entire place was arranged by colors. I pushed her to the scarves in the two hues we had decided on. The ones she chose were pretty. I let her grab a necklace to go with her dress for the program. I waited in line and paid for these things with my mind swirling from what I’d just seen. We burst out the mall doors and I gulped fresh air. Inside the car I felt my vertebrae snapping into their places for the drive home. My eyes were burning and my face was bright red and on fire. Delaney seemed strangely happy if only because I had been able to do this with her. Whatever it looked like I was there, and this made it good. As we rode home I asked her where she thought all that stuff people bought in one day at that one mall would end up in the next year or two. She didn’t quite understand what I meant. I told her I think it will all end up in a yard sale or a donate bin or a basement tote. All that money and time and effort used up or stored up for nothing that really counts. We got smoothies. I began to instruct her about cutting the tags off so she didn’t make any holes in her new things. For good measure I reminded her to pick up any little plastic tag pieces off the floor. Oh God, my OCD is so bad. I can’t help myself even when I want to with all my heart.

Back at home I collapsed into bed for the rest of the day and night. Delaney came in later to hug me and thank me for taking her. I tried to apologize for my serious commentary on what was supposed to be fun. She said she understood. She asked if she could go through my scarves and pick a few I owned to borrow or even have. We laughed as I told her the stories behind some of them and how long I had owned them. I felt peace knowing God had allowed her heart to open to my experience. She went through my jewelry and asked if she could maybe have my old tarnished cameo ring. She said she would like to begin collecting lockets and could I gift the special gold one my dad gave me on my thirteenth birthday to her when she turns thirteen? My heart smiled.

Yes, daughter. Classic beauty. Accent your Jesus face. Don’t distract. Fine linen and purple will last. Dear girl, store up wisdom. Fill your mind and heart with kindness. Simplify. Less things that break or moth or burn. More hidden treasures of the heart. Charm is deceitful, my child. Most beauty is vain. Let Him make you gentle, quiet and full of God’s Spirit. Precious in His sight. Forever. And ever.